


by any other name

by roseandthorns28



Series: [insert title] [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, But he's trying the poor dear, Cowboy puns, Introspection, Lots of Angst about Names, M/M, Steve needs to be less oblivious, Stream of Consciousness, Team as Family, Tony Stark Has A Heart, playing fast and loose with canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-05-24 01:13:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14944860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseandthorns28/pseuds/roseandthorns28
Summary: He hates 'Bucky', hates the man, hates the way it makes his skin crawl and his chest ache.Hates hearing that name thrown around so cavalier. Hates the image it evokes.But he can't do anything about it. His tongue is leaden, his tongue sour with disgust, and he's unable to push out the words.Until Tony Stark rages a one man war against 'Bucky Barnes'.Or, the 5 times Tony rejected 'Bucky’ and the 1 time James did.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I never intended to write this fic. I only wanted a funny, cracky fic about Tony and horse puns and Bucky Barnes' name. I have no idea how this turned into this monster of a feels-laden work. 
> 
> I have a few people to thank, including but not limited to the awesome folks over at the Winteriron Discord Server, and my two lovely betas: [ yngvolkayno ](http://yngvolkayno.tumblr.com/) and enbi. 
> 
> They helped me wrangle this into submission.

** 1. **

On a crisp mid-October afternoon, James Buchanan ‘Bucky’ Barnes enters Stark Tower or colloquially, the Avengers Tower, for the first time since he let himself be found by Steve.

Steve Rogers tells him he knows him and calls him ‘Bucky’, and ‘pal'. Steve Rogers who appears in double, a skinny blond young man overlaid by the tall broad shouldered enhanced figure he sees in front of him.

He’s read about him. He remembers him.

Steve Rogers, Stevie, Captain America.

‘Bucky’ had known all three iterations of the same man once. He, however, only knew Captain America first and no amount of cajoling and hopeful anecdotes about the past can help change that first contact and the subsequent disquiet that has settled in his mind.  

Still, he had spent the last few months hiding in Steve's Brooklyn apartment and trying to troubleshoot his arm back into shape as well as sort the mess in his head. He had nowhere else to go and Steve had offered.  
He was not about to refuse.

And now he’s standing shoulder to shoulder with Steve as they ride up the elevator to common room.   
It's the first time he would be coming face to face with one of his victims. An indirect one albeit, as none of the intended victims of the Winter Soldier ever survived.

He would have preferred to never have to face Tony Stark (Anthony Edward Stark, Antonio, Iron Man) at all but two months had apparently been enough time for Stark to “adjust” to the idea of meeting the brainwashed assassin who'd killed his parents. One of whom had been a friend to the assassin pre-brainwashing.

Not only that but the entrepreneur and inventor has also opened up his house to let Steve move back in, with him in tow, on the Captain's floor. An entire _floor_ for Captain America and he would have one of the suites on it.

An entire suite for _him_ .   
  
Steve showed him pictures and tried to explain the size of a suite. He hadn’t been able to visualise that much space being awarded to him as his living quarters. It can’t be bigger than the apartment which he already finds too vast. Steve insists it is.

All that space, given free of cost.

He doesn't believe for a second that Tony Stark has forgiven him but he can't make any more progress in both the avenues- his arm and his head-, and he is not inclined to live the rest of his life as an invalid, dependent on Steve's good nature.

So, if he were to go out, better it's like this. At least he knows that Tony Stark would do a thorough job. And won't misuse his blood or his arm. Probably only use it for good, going by his MO.

(And maybe some part of him feels relief at that possibility, at the thought of ending his blood-soaked existence, at finally being used to do _good_.)

Steve introduces him as ‘Bucky’ to Stark who nods at him with a strained, “Barnes.”

That name is an acceptable designation, he decides, even though it feels like an oddly fitting sweater, scratchy and misshapen but ultimately ignorable.

This is the first time he realises that there are other ways of saying no, of exerting choice without confronting something head on.

In response, he just nods back. “Mr. Stark…. thank you.” He can't stop the words from getting stuck in his throat and despite his attempts, these four words are all he speaks to Tony Stark until some time passes.

Stark- “Drop the Mister, seriously.”- evades his non-apology as slippery as an eel, changing the topic every time he so much as tries to apologise or thank him for his mind blowing generosity- providing him a place to stay, letting him live rent free, top of the line amenities, not to mention the round the clock assistance of Stark's amazing AI JARVIS.

Stark and he barely exchange words, he can't find it in himself to push out any words beyond the necessary.

But when he can, he watches; he observes and he learns. He picks up tricks that Tony Stark uses and tries to put them into practise with satisfactory results.

A few times, he also feels Stark's eyes on him, sharp and observant, especially when he gives an almost imperceptible startle to being called ‘Bucky’.

Every time Rogers, Cap, Steve calls him that, his shoulders tense, expecting pain and life altering circumstances.

The name ‘Bucky’ has accompanied points of complete upheaval in his life. There are two instances that are seared into his damaged brain.

One is the shout of his name over the howling winds in the Alps, as he falls from a freight car.  
The other on a deserted road, spoken in a soft disbelieving whisper, cracking the ice under which his mind was buried.

So it makes sense that the man acting as a catalyst for the major turning points in his life is the one who uses that name indiscriminately.

He gets good at controlling his reaction to the name, having had two months of practise when it was just him and Steve.  
No one notices. Except Tony Stark.

And sometimes the attention on him is not purely clinical and it confuses him why Stark would be looking at him like that.

(And maybe sometimes he finds himself looking back without due cause or concern, without any conscious decision to look at Stark.)

(And maybe sometimes he doesn’t want to look away.)


	2. Chapter 2

**2.**

He spends the first month of his stay in the tower keeping to himself, careful not to overstep the boundaries of the tentative acceptance granted to him. He doesn’t want Stark to take back his offer at seeing how much of a mess he’s let into his home.

Not when he screams in his sleep and flinches at images flashing in front of his eyes when awake. Not when his fingers itch for a knife, for a gun, towards anything that can be used as a weapon- and for the Winter Soldier that includes an endless list of everyday household items. Not when his first thought of the day is, “What is my mission?” followed by “Where am I?” and “Who am I?” Not when his tongue is lead and his ears ring with the pleas of his victims and his back is bowed with guilt.

Mostly, he spends time alone. 

The only one he talks to on a semi-regular basis beyond Steve is JARVIS. JARVIS who is a creation of Tony Stark, an AI, a wonderful, helpful, intelligent presence whose constant surveillance does not rake at the inside of his skin. An entity that was created but has evolved into something human. Almost a person. 

(And maybe it gives him hope that if a machine can, then perhaps someday he too can evolve into a person.)

It is JARVIS who finally arranges his second meeting with Tony Stark.

“Sergeant Barnes, Sir would like to see you in his workshop when you have time.”

JARVIS always calls him that, ‘Sergeant Barnes’. It always takes him a moment to respond.

He’s not been a Sergeant for decades now and he’s sure his skill set isn’t compatible with the position anymore. He’s overqualified, obviously.

(And maybe sometimes he gets flashes of a wispy haired, bespectacled, pudgy pig-like man, looming over him, sneering ‘Sergeant Barnes’ in a thick accent and he has to breath rhythmically until the shaking stops.)

The Tower might function arbitrarily but there are still unspoken rules. And one of them is that if Stark summons someone into his kingdom, you are to obey.

Still, he’s learning that asking questions is acceptable, that he can ask for clarifications of parameters if he is unclear. There is no punishment for asking questions here. On the contrary, Tony Stark encourages it; himself talking in a mix of observations, rhetorical questions, and pointed comments, interlaced with honest statements and genuine inquires. 

Yet the only one he feels comfortable asking questions is JARVIS. 

Or Steve sometimes but his time spent living with the Captain had led to more than a few pitiful looks when he’d asked some of the things he’d asked.

He hates those pitying looks a lot. JARVIS doesn’t give him any looks, can’t give him any looks but more than that, the AI always takes his anachronisms in stride.

“Why does he want to?”

“It’s to do with your arm, Sergeant Barnes.”

Having a clear indication that Stark is only interested in the technology attached to him makes it easier to accept the invitation.

He’s a little surprised the man would want anything to do with the arm- the silver, segmented limb that had been a defining feature of the Winter Soldier.

Even now, he thinks he catches glimpses of flecks of blood on the metal, can see bits of bone and brain matter stuck to the knuckles, feel the crack of a twisted neck through the palm- despite the fact that the arm’s never had any feeling before beyond the constant pain at the shoulder and the sensation of weight pulling at his ribs and his spine.

The only thing that makes sense to him is Stark wanting to detach the metal monstrosity and melt it down for scraps. It’s a very strong alloy, having survived years of heavy use; it could be useful.

(And maybe he doesn’t care enough about losing the arm. The only reason he himself hasn’t wrenched it off yet is because it had been a tactical advantage to keep it. And because of the anchors dug into his bone. Despite the bastardised serum, he doesn’t have the strength. An Iron Man gauntlet could. Or a blast of that unibeam from the glowing circle in the chestplate. He’s seen the footage, the armour can be a devastating weapon.) 

If anyone has any claim to the arm, it is the one who has been so unequivocally affected by it.

(And maybe losing the ever-present, distinct reminder of the metamorphosis he’s undergone might help in cutting away the parts of him that HYDRA had shoved into him, might turn him back into this ‘Bucky’ that everyone is so desperate to bring out.) 

“Should I inform Sir you’re available?” 

“Yeah. Thanks, JARVIS. I’ll go now.” 

He doesn't tell Steve. 

 

On his way, he's reliably informed by JARVIS that the reason for the visit is that word of his problems with the arm- not limited to hampered mobility now but also extending to shocks of current coursing through the false limb at inopportune moments- has reached his creator and that Tony Stark will not have malfunctioning tech under his roof especially if it's attached to someone. 

It takes him the entire elevator ride down to come to terms with this. He had expected to hand over the arm in form of retribution. Not for Tony Stark to have noticed his malfunctioning and then to provide maintenance in his private lab. 

Try as he might, he cannot come up with an explanation for this until he realises he would have to expand his parameters, taking into account past behaviour and yes, Tony Stark is in the habit of being unexpectedly generous and forgiving, even to people who may have harmed him personally. Or he is so in this particular case. 

He’s a good man, Tony Stark, a kind man. 

(And maybe, selfishly, he wants his kindness, wants his attention, wants to be more than just the killer of his parents.) 

He makes it to a giant open space, barriered only by floor to ceiling glass, that looks like something out of a SciFi zine. It's absolutely breathtaking, washed in blue holograms, futuristic looking tech, a mish-mash of tools and equipment he can’t begin to understand, and in the middle of it all stands Tony Stark, the creator of this vision. 

“Ok before we get to the arm, what do I call you? I don't think I can handle referring to a grown ass man as Bucky. I'm not country enough for that shit.” 

It's the first time someone's asked him what he wants. Someone's asked him what to call him instead of taking their knowledge of his names as permission to call him what they wanted- Barnes, Yasha, Bucky.

He falters.

 

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. Sergeant Barnes. Asset. The Winter Soldier.    
  
For a man with so many names, he doesn’t like any of them.

 

He replies something on the lines of “whatever you want,” distracted by the space, and the large robotic arm that just waved its pincer in an up and down motion. He’s fairly certain it’s- he’s?-she’s? saying ‘hello’.

“That’s DUM-E. You can extrapolate about him through his name, I wasn’t the most creative 16 year old.” Stark says from over his right. 

He tries to wave back but his fingers get stuck, unable to uncurl. 

He drops his metal arm with shame, feeling the inventor’s eyes on him, finally thinking about the objective with which he had been called down. 

“Stark, listen-” 

“Tony, please.” St- _ Tony _ cuts in and he is yet again reminded of the ease with which Tony flounts the convention. Not that there is much convention for dealing with an ex-HYDRA assassin other than ‘shoot on sight’. 

He cradles his metal elbow in his flesh and blood hand as he walks tentatively forward. “I- You don't have to. It's not- it is functional without maintenance.” 

He shouldn’t be arguing with Tony about this. The arm is useful, despite the pain, and it’s only in his best interest that it remain functional and the spasms are very inconvenient.    


But he doesn’t think it’s fair to Tony to have to be the one to repair the arm that surely he must see in his nightmares. He knows  _ he _ does. 

(And maybe he doesn’t want to think about the arm, doesn’t want anything to do with it, doesn’t want to be constantly reminded of the past. Maybe he just wants to spend some moments with the  _ future _ .)

The look he receives from Tony is so incredulous he is afraid the man's eyes are going to pop out. 

“Uh- one it's your  _ arm. _ I think we can do a little better than functional. And two, it really really isn't. Or do you like spilling the entire contents of the cutlery drawer to find a spoon?” Tony asks, projecting a video from two days ago. It’s of him in the kitchen alone, opening the cutlery drawer just in time for a spasm to hit his arm causing the drawer to misalign from its mooring and spill onto the floor. 

“JARVIS, you snitch.” He mutters under his breath, throwing the nearest camera he had clocked a betrayed glare. 

“I don't know what you mean, Sergeant Barnes. Sir often reviews kitchen footage in all living quarters to anticipate Agent Barton’s pranks. Not that it does much good.” 

Tony snorts. “Yeah, this is the one time I'm not gonna argue with J’s mother hen protocols.” 

“Should I inform the meteorological community of the sun having risen in the west today?” 

“Such sass from one so young.” Tony tuts. “Grab a stool, Winter Wonder. We’ll have you up and running in no time.” 


	3. Chapter 3

**3.**

Time is a weird thing. He feels it pass more keenly now that each interval marks some kind of milestone.

After a month of observing, of sticking to the shadows and keeping his guard up for any indication of trouble, he feels like he can accept that he’s been given a good turn for some incomprehensible reason. He feels… safer, now. He doesn’t remember what it’s like to feel safe but he’s getting there. Slowly.

His arm is functioning well now, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Tony not only fixed the issue like he knew the genius would but also, unknowingly, did more than that for him.

The absence of the constant pain eases something in his mind. It’s one less thing that’s constantly blaring a Red Alert to his brain, screaming of impending doom.

It becomes easier to start doing things he didn’t pay attention to earlier, _couldn’t_ pay attention to earlier because he was too preoccupied with safety and security.

Now, every morning, he shaves. He remembers how to pull the skin taut and how to get the right angle for the closest shave, and the scrape of the straight razor against his skin feels familiar again. Steve takes him shopping, and out of sheer necessity he picks out new clothes so that Steve doesn’t do it for him. He likes the dark single colours, he finds. And soft materials. He likes soft materials.

He’s surprised to find that he has preferences, that there are things he _likes_ and things he _doesn’t_ even for something as inconsequential as clothes. Every little decision gives him a little bolt of joy at the privilege.

(And maybe his hand drifts more towards clothes he’s received a throwaway compliment or an arrested look on. And maybe he tends more towards shades of red but that’s neither here nor there.)

He eats, more than just the tiny portions three times a day at designated meal times that he’d had earlier to sustain himself in a fight if necessary. He starts branching out from the usual, starts taking seconds, starts going to the kitchen on his own and picking up a snack in the middle of the day.

Sometimes, he even eats when he’s not hungry, only for the taste and the experience of it. He likes discovering new flavours. There’s an abundance of different flavours and textures to explore and he does so tentatively, making note of what he likes and what he doesn’t.

Sometimes, when he feels the bile rise up in his throat at the memories of the chair, of what they made him do, of the cold Siberian winter, sometimes he eats nothing at all.

Despite that, his eyes now look less hollow, he's gained some more muscle mass, and where there was only brittleness, there’s a sense of surety now in his bones.

He’s established a routine of sorts. He goes to the gym every day and when he works up a sweat and takes off his shirt, the sight of the ragged scars marring his shoulder and the left side of his chest no longer make him want to bury himself in multiple layers and curl under the blankets.

(And maybe the looks of what feels is approval each small step incites from Tony help. And maybe he notices them more when it has to do with his physical appearance. Once he stands in front of a mirror and tries to look at what Tony thinks he’s looking at. He doesn’t find anything and he’s not going to ask. But knowing there might be something to appreciate in _him_ helps. If only Tony could clue him in as to what it is.)

He spends less time alone in his room. Initially, only because he gave in to Steve’s constant pestering but slowly, he starts tolerating the presence of other people, using common areas  when he feels less like he might vibrate out of his skin from anxiety and paranoia.

Sometimes his skin feels too tight and his bones too heavy and he needs some time to curl up in a corner, safe from his thoughts for a little while. But even then, JARVIS’ soothing voice is there in the background.

He still isn’t up for extended group activities or one-on-one interactions beyond the handful of conversations he’s had with Natasha, Barton, or Sam.

Banner’s jumpiness makes him nervous and Steve- well, Steve is kind of always around.

The Asgardian- Thor- is thankfully off planet, apparently. He doesn’t know how well he would’ve been able to adjust to the sight of an alien god when he’s too busy having his own existential crisis.

His favourite though, are early mornings in the communal kitchen where people breeze in and out at varying times, conducting their own morning rituals. As the soft light of dawn slowly turns into the golden blaze of the afternoon sun, the Avengers wander in erratically, either post-morning workout or just having woken up.

(And maybe out of them all, he cherishes the rare glimpses of Tony Stark soft with sleep or manic with sleeplessness, swanning in to reclaim an entire pot of coffee and the closest food items.)

It’s ironically very relaxing. There is very little conversation of consequence, it being an unspoken rule to respect everyone’s space during that time.

He spends most mornings in and around the kitchen, looking out of those ridiculous glass windows and reading a book on the counter, trying the various breakfast cereal available to him. He has a preference for the sweeter ones, he’s found.

 

It’s on one such morning that the issue of his name is raised again by Tony. 

“Hey, Robocop, toss me that muffin.”

He does as asked without a reply, not finding one necessary. Steve seems to disagree.

“He has a name, you know.”

 No, he doesn’t.

'Bucky’ belongs to a man long dead at the bottom of a snowy ravine. 'Bucky' was left in tatters and bleeding on an operating table. Perhaps, 'Bucky' had been burned out of his veins on a metal slab in Azzano.

All he knows is that the man the moniker refers to is not the same man occupying space in the Tower, the face he tries hard to not look at for too long in the mirror.

“Seriously, I’m not calling him that. I’m not calling you that. Bucky Barnes. Makes you sound like a rodeo cowboy.”

He’s thought about this unwillingness of Tony to call him _that_ and despite not knowing what it is, he feels a sense of camaraderie for their shared distaste for that name.

After his visit to the workshop, and after he’d done marveling at the pain free movement of the arm, he’d given the issue some thought.

It hadn’t come up again, Tony had resorted to nonverbal cues or specific nicknames like those he bestowed on everyone- One Armed Wonder, Popsicle, soldier, Red October, Manchurian Candidate….

He doesn’t know what half of them mean. He has an inkling and after every new one he enlists JARVIS’ help to look for the origin of the name and laughs quietly to himself at each one. Tony really is very clever.

(And maybe he likes the fact that Tony doesn’t shy away from his past, doesn’t brush it under the rug. Rather, he brings it to the forefront, makes it his identifier and let’s him know it’s okay. Otherwise why would he smile like that at him?)

Still, he doesn’t want to chose something given to him by someone else. That doesn’t feel like a choice, it feels like giving in. He doesn’t want to call himself what anyone else calls him, doesn’t want any of the baggage that comes with ‘Bucky’ ‘Sgt. Barnes’ ‘Soldier’.

He wants something of his own. And a page in his notebook with crossed out names and JARVIS’ security footage from his bedroom will attest to his struggles with finding that something.

Even ‘bouncybabynames.com’ that JARVIS had opened for him had not been very helpful. He still thinks the AI had been playing a prank on him. He didn’t mind. It had been funny. At least he knew he wasn’t an ‘Eric’ or a ‘Grant’ or an ‘Arthur’ now.

None of the names felt...right. They didn’t feel like his.

He doesn’t know how he came to what he decided but he knew it was right when he felt something bitter dislodge in his chest. He asked JARVIS to call him that once, just to try it out, to see how it feels and… it felt right.

He still lets J call him ‘Sergeant Barnes’ even now because he’s gotten used to the AI’s mechanical, accented voice calling him that. He kind of likes JARVIS being the only one who does. That name breaks him out of his spirals of self-flagellation and overwhelming images flashing in front of his eyes.

So, he’s prepared, he’s practised. He knows how to answer Tony. 

Before he can though, Barton interjects,  “Or a pornstar.”

This diverts Tony’s attention and he listens to the bickering between the two with half an ear.  

“I’ll take cowboy over pornstar. There’s no pun in there, Clint. Seriously. Bucky Barnes would make a boring porn name.”

“No self respecting cowboy would ever have such a punny name. That’s what you name the _horse_ not the cowboy. Trust me I was in a circus. I know these things.”  

“Well, still a rodeo-related name. Ergo I win, you lose. End of story.”

“As if, asshole. I never admitted defeat. I got one for you: what if it’s _cowboy_ porn?”

He doesn’t mind that they’re talking about him over his head like he doesn’t exist. He’s used to being talked over and most times it’s too much effort to overcome the fear of punishment and interrupt.

Plus, he hates ‘Bucky’ and the malignation of that name only causes him to snort in amusement. That and Captain America’s distasteful moue at the topic of discussion.

“Okay… I can see that.”

“Are you saying you can see me in porn, Stark?” He cuts in finally, unable to resist such a brilliant set-up.

He’s learning humour and how to express it slowly, tentatively, teasing and joking- even though Sam often tells him he’s too intense and it comes off more threatening but he doesn’t care. Sam’s an idiot.

“Sweet jesus,” Steve finally mutters under his breath, so low only he could hear it and out of the corner of his eye he can see the Captain run a hand down his face to hide his smile.  “Why did you have to make it worse?”

He gives a little shrug in response, eyes on Tony who’s now full on bickering with Barton.

“C’mon, Buck. They’re gonna be at it until kingdom come.” Steve says, pushing away from his chair and depositing their utensils and in the sink, skirting Barton where he sits atop the counter, rolling his eyes.

“You go on ahead, I’ll join ya in a minute.” He replies, shooting Steve a tiny smile, just a little uptick of his lips; he’s in a good mood today.

Once both Steve and Clint clear out of the kitchen, it’s just him and Tony. Tony who is now wrangling a double-shot espresso from the complicated coffee machine, his back to him as if he’d forgotten the former Winter Soldier was sitting in spitting distance.

He walks up behind him and finally gives voice to the name stuck in his throat, formless, bubbling up every time anyone calls him ‘Bucky’.

“James.”

The genius whirls on him and it’s only his quick reflexes that allow him to steady the mug of coffee- with a hand resting a few inches above where Tony’s is on the opposite side of the mug- that prevents the hot liquid from splashing all over them.

“What the fuck- you trying to give me a heart attack, Super Sneak?”

He must’ve forgotten to telegraph his movements this time. He can’t break the habit of melting into walls, occupying as little space as possible, making no noise at all, speaking only when spoken to. These behaviours had kept him from punishment once but now they only seem to make those around him uncomfortable.

(And maybe a little part of him feels amusement at how Tony startles like one of those kittens Clint had showed him on the youtube.)

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Just... James. If you wanted to call me something.”

Tony Stark looks at him- looks at _James-_ and simply smiles in acknowledgement. No fanfare, no questions asked. A smile and a nod, before he is speaking again.

“James. See, that’s a respectable name. Not a cowboy name at all. I know a James. He’s the best. I call him Rhodey, though.”

 

James smiles. Yes, he likes James.


	4. Chapter 4

**4.**

The next few times someone calls him ‘Bucky’ it becomes harder for him to tamp down on his reactions, his spine prickling with unease. Now that he finally has a name, James’ distaste for ‘Bucky’ increases. Still, the words to make them stop never escape his lips. 

He’s spent the last 70 years without any consideration to his preferences, with expression of personal views earning him swift punishment. 

He didn’t even have a name to respond to or apply to himself outside of what he’d been called by his handlers.  They took away his personhood, tore away everything that made him… him and stuffed in violence and blood-soaked nightmares in the crevices left behind. 

So, it’s hard for him to assert a preference, especially for something as inconsequential as ~~his designation~~ his name. Tony, though, has no such compunction.

He doesn’t know if it’s simply because he finds the name ‘Bucky’ juvenile and amusing or if he’s noticed how uncomfortable ‘Bucky’ makes him and that he prefers a name he chose for himself that no one seems to associate with him at all, or maybe, more likely, it’s a mixture of the two.

Whatever it is, Tony is just behind James in his distaste for the name.

 

He starts off in a very inconsequential manner, something unnoticeable by most, but soon Tony has waged an all out war on ‘Bucky’.

In pure Tony Stark fashion, he does this passive aggressively and  _ brilliantly _ . 

During the next two months, Tony has addressed him by all possible horse and cowboy themed nicknames, using every possible pun as obscure as it may be. It’s a source of surprise that he doesn’t seem to run out of them and finds the smallest of setups to work some kind of joke in. 

All the way from ‘Buckaroo’ to ‘Bucking-bronco’, telling him to ‘pony up the coffee’ on sleepy sunday mornings at team breakfasts, ‘hoof it, soldier’ at drills that he slowly starts participating in, calling him ‘stud’, ‘Cap’s mane man’, and obviously ‘cowboy’, teasing him about ‘eating like a horse’, buying a novelty cowboy hat and dropping it onto James’ head with a glint in his eye that James would like to explore some more, telling him to drink some tea if he’s feeling ‘horse’ at 3 in the morning when he’s in the kitchen, Steve in tow, shaking from a nightmare, advising him not to make a ‘foal’ of himself at his first public outing, telling him to stop ‘horsing around’ the first time James actually tackles Barton off the couch feeling more confident that he wouldn’t lose his shit, as they say and gut someone during a bout of friendly wrestling… Tony doesn’t let up, and James enjoys every second of it.  

It helps that there’s a clear distinction drawn between Tony’s behaviour in front of any other member of the team, and when they are alone together- which happens more and more to James’ surprised delight. When it’s just the two of them, in the lab, on opposite ends of the couch but still close enough to reach out and  _ touch _ if they so choose, running into each other in the hallways, Tony always,  _ always _ calls him James. 

 

In the beginning, Clint and Sam jump on the bandwagon as they perceive an opportunity to ‘fuck with Barnes’. 

James has to stop Steve from overreacting and defending him, telling him when they’re alone that he doesn’t mind, that it makes him feel included, which eases the Captain’s worry. 

(And maybe he likes it a bit too much, likes being the focus of Tony’s attention. Likes the fact that he man is taking such extreme measures to make him feel comfortable, despite having already gone above and beyond for his parents’ killer. Likes the fact that Tony looks at him and winks at him as if they’re in cahoots. Likes that when it’s just the two of them, Tony’s voice curls over  _ his _ name like a caress. Likes the vicious streak in Tony that he can identify in himself too. Likes the over the top, ridiculous puns and the small, expectant smile Tony has whenever he cracks a joke.) 

It comes to a point where just uttering the word ‘Bucky’ simply leads to a two second audio clip of neighing horses overlaid with a shout of “Yeehaw” from some Western film being played by JARVIS. 

James really loves JARVIS. And expressing this to his creator has the added bonus of being witness to a flushed Tony Stark, a sight that causes a curl of delight and warmth somewhere low in his gut. And perhaps a dash of arousal. 

Playing along and mimicking the exaggerated accents in the Western films Tony loves so much (and that are summarily banned after Week One of the cowboy puns) also has a similar effect. Something James takes pleasure in taking advantage of. 

It’s the most fun he’s had in… as long as he remembers. There’s something to be said about playing innocent lamb while reveling in the chaos that is caused with him as a catalyst, the complete absence of accountability, of letting himself indulge in the growing torment of others in a way that’s ultimately completely harmless. 

 

Natasha is the one to figure it out the quickest- well, only after Tony- and demonstrates her approval by hiding horse figurines in unusual locations like inside the cereal box or in some unsuspecting person’s sock drawer. 

Banner and James have only had a couple of conversations one-is-to-one but he takes Tony’s dramatics in stride, hiding grins in tea mugs and behind tablets and holograms.

Clint and Sam start off egging Tony on before their enthusiasm declines as the time it continues increases. Tony Stark is nothing if not tenacious, even more so than the willpower of the ‘feather-brothers’ to prank him. 

Steve is the one James is the most nervous about who goes from confused to annoyed to combative to reluctantly accepting to fondly amused to exasperated in the span of sixty days. James and Tony both end up on the receiving end of some very expressive looks that seem to convey disappointment but James’ sharp eyes catch the slight pursing of lips to hide a smile, and the twitches under the eye, and he sees no reason to stop if Steve is amused and not angry. 

 

By the end of it though, one week into JARVIS’ inclusion in this game of theirs, everyone’s begging him to provide them with another name- any other name- with which to call him because “ _ if I have to hear another goddamn horse pun I swear to god I will kill everyone in this Tower and then myself.” _

 

And he happily provides them with their salvation in the form of ‘James’. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heartfelt thanks to my girl [Misty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamingdarkly/pseuds/mistrstank) for kicking my ass in gear and helping with some parts of this chapter. 
> 
> It's a big'un.

**5.**

The days after the self proclaimed 'Pun Sheriff' releases them from their torment, feel a lot more like what James always thought ‘peace’ might. The whole debacle had not only got rid of the ‘Bucky’ problem for good but also helped cement his place amongst the close-knit team. Where there might’ve been tiptoeing and concerned glances earlier, James was now treated almost like he was one of  _ them _ , like he was a part of the small family these heroes have formed of themselves and not just the stray they’d picked up on the way. 

The utter ridiculousness of the Tower’s inhabitants had also gone a long way in making James finally let go of his constant vigilance... for the most part. The pervasive expectation of an attack or of judgement had been replaced by a sense of comfort in his skin, at least around the six and a half Avengers- even Thor whenever he visits-; Sam being probationary until he had at least one tabloid trash piece to his name according to Tony’s rules.  

It starts feeling like a home. That if he leaves, not returning back to the Tower and the people in it, to the spaces he usually occupies, would feel like a loss and not just the necessary evacuation of a compromised safe house. 

Now that his earlier burden of his paranoia, his discomfort with his name, his unease amongst the Avengers, now that all of that is gone, it leaves space behind for other feelings to take place.

Gratitude, trust, hope, affection, fondness, exasperation, annoyance, amusement, irritation, camaraderie, awe, his Tower mates invoke all these different emotions in him, so many that he has to look up words to describe them, having forgotten that there could be such nuances between two different feelings. That irritation at Clint for finishing the Fruit Loops and not adding it to the list is different from the fond exasperation he feels at arguing with Sam about pizza toppings of all things. The awe he experiences on a daily basis towards JARVIS is different than the admiration he has for Natasha. The deep-seated, steady as a rock affection he feels for Steve is different than the fondness he feels for Bruce and his various quirks and than the amused reverence for he does for Thor.

But more so than any of those, the one that fills him up the most is the feelings he has about Tony. 

 

Thanks to Tony, he feels a sense of freedom in himself; as though he's been drowning for so long and has just broken through the surface and gotten that first breath of air. He feels like someone completely new and at the same time, like he's rediscovered the parts of himself he'd considered lost. It's not only gratitude, but also so much  _ more.  _

It’s everything he feels for the other Avengers but it’s also something of a different flavour.

With Tony he's not some broken thing, nor a relic of some long ago time.

He's James.

He's the guy who spends hours down in Tony’s lab, watching the other man light up with every discovery. He's the guy who plays silly pranks and starts pun wars with an AI. He likes chocolate but not vanilla and strawberries but not strawberry  _ flavoured  _ things. He likes robots, cars and Tony.

Tony.

Everything comes back to Tony, and he's not sure how long it's been there but now that he's  _ looking. _

(And maybe on some level he recognises that this is not a sudden thing but rather the cumulation of a thousand different moments, of fragments of feelings Tony has invoked in him, of layers of opinions he has on the man, carefully crafted through repeat interactions and careful observation.) 

The problem stands not in him being confused or scared of what he feels. He’s accepted the fact that Tony has a place in his heart. His feelings for the man, the warmth he feels in his chest is something he never thought he  _ could _ , didn’t think possible, not after the mess that HYDRA left behind in the form of one metal-armed, brainwashed assassin. 

His feelings for Tony remind him of this image that’s locked deep in his memory, of a stubborn, bright yellow dandelion pushing through the cracks in on a barren stretch of earth. He doesn’t know when or where he saw this, if it exists in reality or solely in his mind, but he knows that that flower, that persistent, beautiful bloom needs to be protected.

(And maybe he relishes in the feelings of fondness, of affection, of awe, of trust, of gratitude, of arousal, of a mix of undefinable emotions that make his iced heart beat in his scarred chest. And maybe he doesn’t want to push that away, wants instead to drown himself in the goodness, the familiar newness of it all.) 

So, the problem doesn’t lie with his feelings. It’s that James doesn’t know what to  _ do _ with them.  

He starts off small, starts by doing little things for Tony, starts trying to repay the favours he’s accumulated over the course of his stay in the Tower.

It’s inconsequential things, like bringing down coffee, food- sandwiches, stir fry, stew cooked with his limited skills in the kitchen-, and company to Tony’s labs, listening to him as he works things out regarding non-sensitive material that James has the clearance to be aware of, offering his shoulder for Tony to rest his head against on movie nights, graduating slowly from friendly teasing to flirtatious comments, trying his best to coax a smile onto that handsome face, helping out with DUM-E and U’s maintenance,   

It doesn’t feel like a debt, doesn’t feel like he owes Tony something, like he’s obligated. 

Instead, it feels like a choice he makes to make the man who gave him a home (and a renewed lease on life  and love ) a little bit happier.

The mission is not to persuade Tony to feel for him what James feels for the genius. It never even enters the realm of possibility, not even in the (semi-)safety of his head. He just wants to see Tony smile, see the burden lifted a little from his shoulders, give him joy in any small way he can. 

(And maybe he covets every small smile, every gesture, every touch he is rewarded with, every sight of Tony, especially in those figure hugging, sharp suits of his. And maybe at night his thoughts venture into a territory that might not be entirely innocent. But that’s neither here nor there.)

 

Then he notices Tony's interest in him. 

It’s nothing big, nothing grand. It’s in the way Tony reacts to him. His mind already catalogues behaviours almost automatically and he can’t not pay attention to the way Tony lights up, the way his gaze strays and sticks to James, his touch lingers, his voice deepens in his presence. The way it’s completely different than his behaviour with the others, and at odds with the press personas he has. 

James doesn’t know what to do with this information.

Tony deserves someone worthy of him, someone who can keep up with his science talk, not just provide a sounding board for his genius, someone who looks good on his arm not like he's teetering on the edge of mass murder, someone who is  _ not _ a broken, messily pieced back together assassin with blood on his hands and a head full of nightmares. 

But for some reason, it's  _ him _ Tony has chosen to look at with that look in his eye and James is a selfish, selfish man. 

He's not strong enough or selfless enough to give Tony up. Whatever scraps he gets, he'll cling to them with both hands unless Tony is the one to tell him to go. 

If only conviction was nine-tenths the battle. Now that he knows he wants to try, try for something with Tony, he doesn't know what exactly to do.

Like always, he enlists JARVIS’ help, swearing the AI to silence on the subject, especially to Tony. It makes him a little nervous asking that of JARVIS since it’s pretty obvious where his loyalties lie. But thankfully, he doesn’t seem to peeved with James and the next time he sees Tony he’s greeted with the same wide smile and a random teasing nickname like nothing’s changed so he believes the AI keeps his word.

The internet is useless on trying to woo someone like Tony.

“Might I make a suggestion, Sergeant Barnes?” JARVIS cuts in, making James sigh. 

“Yeah, sure thing.” 

“Would you consider simply talking to Sir about this?” 

“I- he deserves more than me just… vomiting my feelings on him.” 

“I believe past experience shows that the most straightforward approach is the best with Sir. Despite his own tendency to extravagant gestures.”

“You… you won't mind if I take a second opinion? Not that I don't trust you but..” 

“Of course not.”

 

So James does the unthinkable and goes to Sam for advice. He's a counsellor or something. He should be good at this.

 

And he kinda is, after he stops laughing that is. 

“Oh god, I don't even know what to say. Here I thought you were finally biting the bullet and coming to me for help with your PTSD but you just… oh god. This is golden. Wait till Clint here's about this,” The semi-Avenger (and yes, James is never letting that go because Wilson is an ass) says through his chuckles. 

“Clint is never hearing about this.” 

And perhaps the knife is a bit excessive but it gets the message across eloquently. 

“Jeez, fine, fine! Don’t kill me. Just... go talk to him, idiot.” 

“JARVIS said the same thing.” 

“And you came to me because…?” 

“I don't know actually, you've been wildly unhelpful.” 

“Sorry, okay just… Tony's a little hard to read but he's a good man. And he has been a little too invested in you, you know, the past three months are proof. So, maybe there is something there. You’ll never know unless you talk to him.”

“What if…. What if he says no?” 

“So what? You’ll know for sure, then. He says no, you move on, things are a bit awkward for a while but then you both keep being friends and teammates. It's not the end of the world.” 

“Right. So I just… tell him?” 

“Sure. I mean you can try asking him out? Start with coffee. It's casual, free of expectations, and a clear indication of interest.” 

 

It takes him the better part of the day, a subtle nudge from JARVIS in the form of “Sir is working on something non-essential currently”, and the collection of a mug of coffee as an excuse to visit Tony. 

For a second he’d entertained the idea of messing with his arm to have Tony fix it for him but he knows that that would only end in tears and perhaps a panic attack or two. Not to mention, he doesn’t want to use subterfuge for this. 

It’s too big, too important to him- Tony is too important to him- for him to fuck that up with trying to take advantage of Tony. He has enough of that from the world. 

Tony looks towards him before he’s even stepped into the lab, DUM-E and U beeping greetings from where they’re holding up pieces of a stripped down Iron Man chassis.

James stands in front of an expectant Tony, his words dying in his throat.

“I was wondering if…. I mean, would you-” he glances at his hands for something to look at other than Tony and realises the futility of asking Tony out for coffee while bringing him a cup of the very beverage itself. 

“I don’t know how to do this.” He blurts out instead of his carefully prepared question he'd rehearsed in the mirror. 

“Do what, James?” Tony asks, stepping closer, concern overshadowing his curiosity. 

“I… this.” He waves a hand between them as of that clears anything up. But it must because Tony gets this look on his face like he understands and he steps back. 

“You don't have to…” 

“No I- I prepared for this. I tried to… god, nothing worked. I wanted to do this right but-” James scoffs, giving a desolate shrug, eyes on the floor.  “If I was still… him…. still Bucky, he’d know how to sweep you off your feet.” 

Tony tsks at him, placing a warm hand on his right shoulder causing James to look up into those deep, beautiful brown eyes. 

“Well, I don’t want  _ Bucky _ . I want the guy who's always looking out for me, who brings me treats when I'm working, who's my body heater on movie nights, who lets me tinker with his arm when I'm too keyed up from nightmares, who listens to me and _actually listens_ when I'm ranting; the guy who's been living here for the half year. I don't want anyone else but James." He pauses, before a mischievous smirk makes its way onto his lips, "Seriously, did none of last month clue you in to how absurd I think the name is?” 

James can’t help his shy smile but he scoffs lightly in dismissal at Tony’s last statement. “Please. I know you only did that for me.”

“Well, maybe so. But seriously, Bucky’s just asking for all the cowboy jokes. And I hadn’t even started on the dirty ones.”

“You were thinking about dirty ones too?” 

“Oh honey, I was thinking of nothing but.” 

“Still wanted to do this right.” James mutter mutinously, refusing to be sidetracked by Tony’s propensity to turn conversations into digressing, lighthearted banter.

“There's nothing to get right, James. It’s just you and me. And whatever we chose to do about it.” 

Tony is so close now, James can almost feel the heat emanating from his body, the weight of his hand on his shoulder causing a swoop in his stomach, much like the way Tony’s thumb is rubbing absent circles into the soft material of his maroon shirt.

He looks up from his eyelashes at Tony with a small smirk, gaining back some of his confidence. 

“And what do you choose to do about this, genius?” 

“This.” Tony proclaims, pulling him into a soft, heartfelt kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I'm so very sorry for being so so late but things have been crazy hectic! 
> 
> First I fell sick, and then as soon as I recovered, I got accepted into a master's program and I had to relocate to a completely new city the day I got the acceptance itself and it's been unreal, I haven't gotten a single minute to myself since. 
> 
> So sorry once again.
> 
> Just one more chapter to go! Will get that out asap! 
> 
> Thanks so much for all your kudos and comments. They are my lifeblood.


	6. Chapter 6

**+1.**

When it happens with Steve, it is not a well planned thing. It happens all of a sudden, in the middle of conversation about something inconsequential and casual.

But it doesn’t come out of nowhere. It’s the cumulation of the past year, of feeling uncomfortable in his skin, feeling like an imposter taking someone else’s place, of being a pretender.

(And maybe he feels a little resentment for Steve who doesn’t seem to remember that there exist 70-odd years of him being scrubbed raw and broken down.)

Steve calls him Bucky and it grates on his nerves like always but this time he can’t help but order Steve to just “Stop it.”

Steve’s mouth is hanging half open, in the middle of his sentence and James doesn’t even remember what it is that they were talking about, his mind so full of white noise of fear of reprisal from the Captain, of his own impulsive decision, of anxiety over how to explain it to Steve when he still has problems with his words, with communicating his preferences, speak nothing of demands.

Despite Tony’s urging to just talk to the guy, James couldn’t bring himself to take that away from his friend, to rock the boat in their relationship which was one of his grounding stones in this confusing world full of _choices_ and _consequences_.

“Bucky- what? What’s wrong?”

“Don’t call me that!” James replies, anger and annoyance taking forefront, his distaste tasting sour in the back of his throat. “I _hate_ that name, Steve. I can’t- I can’t stand it.”

“What- Bucky? But that’s- I mean… that’s your name. I know you and Tony have this thing where he calls you James but-”

“It’s not a thing, Steve. It’s… it’s my name. Not the other one. I’m not- I’m not the same man anymore.”

“But I always called you B- _that_.” And Steve sounds so much like that little kid he has vague impressions of, bewildered and lost that James almost capitulates.

The only thing that stops him from taking it all back and asking Steve to forget it is that he knows that wouldn’t fly with Steve. Not stubborn as a mule, kind to a fault Steve.

And now that he’s almost halfway through, he can’t stop or he’ll have to swallow down that mouthful of poison every time he hears that name. 

James can almost hear Tony’s voice in his head from one of their conversations when they were laying on the couch huddled close, enjoying each other’s warmth.

> _“Things like these, they have a habit of coming back again and again, like a bad penny. If you don’t control how it gets out, it’ll happen when you’re not prepared for it. Explosively. And then you won’t be able to help the outcome whatever it is. Now, or later, it will happen. It’s on you how you handle it.”_  

Taking a deep breath, James looks away, shoulders hunched and tries to find the words to explain it to Steve.

“Well, now I’m asking you to call me James. I can’t- I don’t like that name. I… hate it. Maybe someday I will be able to listen to it without wanting to claw my ears out but that day isn’t today. The man you’re looking for, Bucky Barnes… that’s not me. Not anymore. I don’t know who I am, _what_ I am. Not the Soldier or the Asset. But I’m not Bucky either.”

There is silence hanging heavy in the room, the television empty noise in the background. Just as James is getting ready to make a quick exit through the room, down to elevator, and into his safe space, into Tony’s lab, there’s a heavy hand on his flesh shoulder.

“You’re my friend. Bucky, James, whoever, you want to be called, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re one of my closest friends. You should’ve told me sooner, Bu- James. I would’ve… I don’t know. I didn’t realise this was going on.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t very open about it. I didn’t know myself that I had… the option of going by something other than the designation- I mean, name- that you assigned until Tony-”

James cuts himself off, some of the tension leaving his body. He feels very possessive about the entire journey that he and Tony went through, the depth of the other man’s understanding. It’s something that’s his and his alone.

“He knew, didn’t he? Tony? He figured it out. That’s what was with all those cowboy puns and all.”

James nods, smiling to himself at the memory of those weeks where Tony and JARVIS joined forces to prank the entirety of the Avengers for James.

“Yeah, he did.”

“I’ve been kind of blind, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, you have.”

“Kind of an ass too, to not realise how much that name made you uncomfortable.”

“Kind of."

“You want to punch me in the face?”

“Wha- No!” James replies, whipping around to gape incredulously at Steve, surprised by the quick change in the pace of the conversation, and by the offer. Despite everyone’s acceptance of him, there is still uneasiness when James and violence are associated in the same sentence. “Jesus Christ, Stevie, not everything can be solved by punching people in the face.”

The tiny teasing smile, the one that Steve has when he’s being a little shit drops and he grimaces instead taking his hand away.

“You don’t have to- I mean, you shouldn’t do that. Put an act. I- I know it’s not you- the Bucky from before. It’ll take some time for me to adjust to calling you James but… I’m sure as hell gonna try my best. So, don’t. Don’t pretend. Not for me.”

“I- yeah, okay. It’s just- it made you happy. Wasn’t a big deal.”

“You just being here makes me happy. I don’t need the window dressing.” There’s the hand again, squeezing his shoulder and this time James can see the earnest expression on Steve’s face.

“You’re a sap, Rogers.” James huffs a laugh, feeling much lighter than he ever has before.

 

The next few days pass almost seamlessly, James feeling buoyed by the acceptance from Steve. He hadn’t realised how much of a sword it was that was hanging over his head until the threat of it is gone.

Perhaps that is why he offers this little concession, a small tidbit that he’s had trouble admitting even to himself.

“You know it wasn’t entirely an act.”

“Hmm?” Steve asks in confusion, not even looking up from where he’s cooking the meat in the pan.

James on chopping duty speaks more to his knife that Steve, “I- I do remember some, you know. From back then. I wasn’t just acting like that for your sake. There’s a lot of… mix up. Some things just come out of nowhere. I guess I just I don’t know how much of it is actually me and how much is _him_.”

He hears Steve place the spatula to the side and turn the heat off, a stickler for kitchen safety, even when he’s unexpectedly thrown into an emotional conversation. There’s a shuffling and Steve is much closer than before but not overwhelmingly. James cant move, can’t look, and he focuses on the mindless task of dicing the potatoes.

“You know you’re… both him, right?” Steve begins softly. “It’s all you, Bucky, James… the Winter Soldier. Guess you’ve just changed is all. But even I’m not the same. We both, we’ve both changed. I just- I don’t know I guess I was too swept up in the idea of getting my friend back that I didn’t stop to realise that maybe I was looking in the wrong place. That you’ve always been here. You’re still a good person underneath, the same sassy sarcastic jerk who’s a pain in my ass.”

“Shuddup, _mudak_.”

(And maybe his hoarse voice is due to the effort of swallowing back his sob of relief, and maybe he goes back after dinner to bury his face in Tony’s neck and he _does_ end up crying uncontrollably, uncertain why it hits him so but that’s between him and Tony.)

 

Things settle after that, even for James himself. He had been so focused on the separation between him and Bucky, on drawing a line in the sand that he hadn’t seen the similarities. The self-help articles that JARVIS keeps sending him make him realise that sometimes an external third-party source can help us gain perspective. Despite Tony’s distaste for his choice of nightly reading, James relishes the tiny snippets of helpful advice that he collects and with J’s help collates into one document.

God, does he love technology. Especially Tony’s technology. Conveying that to his lover is enough to distract Tony from the fallibility of self-help books and pop-psychology.

Things with Steve are a little different, only if the idiot tries to overcorrect and keeps cutting himself off. James can see he’s bubbling with questions and when he’s had enough, he sits his friend down and demands he get whatever it is off his chest.

“I’m thinking of going to therapy.”

James falters. Leave it to Steve to completely undermine all his preparation for what he thought this conversation might be.

“What?”

“I was thinking of going to therapy. When I first… woke up… SHIELD appointed me someone but now, knowing what I know, I am even more convinced they might be HYDRA. Tony- he, offered to refer me to someone, someone he trusts. I think it’ll be a good idea. I need to- talking to you, this whole…. Y’know, name thing… made me realise that maybe I need some help. Maybe I haven’t adjusted, not completely.”

“That’s… that’s a good idea. I- Sam’s been kinda after my life to go too.”

“You should. We do this. Together.”

“You don’t need to do it for me, you know. I know I’m messed up. But you-”

“ _I’m_ tired of living in the past, that’s what I am.”

“I don’t… I can’t spend my whole life looking back into the past either.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you’re involved with a _futurist_.”

“That was lame even for you, Steve.”

“Lame, huh? Just because you’re dating someone much younger than you doesn’t mean you should copy their lingo.”

“Stop it you, or I’ll tell the team about how ticklish you are.”

“You wouldn’t! Bucky- you promised you would never after what happened with Dugan.”

“Well, it ain’t my fault you peed yourself.”

“I didn’t pee myself, you asshole! My hip flask burst!”

“Uh huh, keep telling yourself that.”

“God, you’re such a jerk.”

“And you’re a punk.”

“How come out of everything, that’s the thing you remember?”

“I don’t know… I didn’t know I did. It just… came from nowhere. It happens sometimes. I’m not even sure it’s real or not.”

“Well, anytime you wanna know if it is, just come by and I’ll help you best I can.”

“Sure thing, Steve.”  
  


Hope, James finds is a strong thing. It takes root somewhere deep, somewhere hidden, and it blooms in your chest until you’re heady with the feeling of it.

James has his anchor in Steve and his beacon in Tony and the his family in the team and he’s not unmoored anymore.

He’s James. And he’s happy.  

**Author's Note:**

> con-crit welcome. please yell in the comments if you feel like. I always reply. 
> 
> or come talk to me at my [ tumblr ](http://roe-sesandthorns.tumblr.com/). Or find me on the discord server @roe-sesandthorns#7567


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